I've been in this semi- (no not in the sense of the word 'diesel') state of being for so long. What I mean by this is that I feel like I do not focus fully on one aspect or technique of anything long enough to master it. I have these fleeting passions and obsessions that are circular but not linear, so therefore, I rarely progress from A to M, much less from A to Z in hardly anything. I go from A to D then back to B then on to E. It drives me crazy because I could be grandiose in some category, I'm sure of it, if only I could focus and choose one thing.
For instance, chances are when I am an old lady I will not cross stitch, but I will still be at an intermediate, novel, hobbyist level on the guitar. I choose the same hobby, but yet I skip around much and so, therefore, while I could be Bonnie Raitt, I will be pitiful Grandma Teri playing "This Land is Your Land" in twenty variations, learned from the past 20 years, with grandchildren smiling sideways at one another.
Currently, every weekend at church, I glare at and adore our church acoustic guitarist who is masterful, mindful, marvelous on his runs and strums and plucks. Ah, if only I could concentrate, I too could understand all there is to know about position and composition and interpretation. Every string would have a clear response to a finger, and I would be lost in the creation of the intricate but connected song. Like him. Why him? I need forgiveness.
But then I know my pattern. Spring will come, and I'll get the rush to plant. For about six years, I learned all about flowers to where now I pass a bed and unconsciously rattle off common and (sometimes) Latin names of the plantings. I would sleep with the winter catalogues; I would plan dream gardens on sketch pads; I had full grow tables in my basement; I toured nurseries and gardens with similar sprouting budheads (friends). I was obsessed.
Then I would get carried away with ministry of some sort, or writing, or teaching Hamlet at a high school, or going to coffee with friends, or taking a drama class, or training for a ridiculously torturous run, or homeschooling plans.
But now, every night, my guitar has recaptured me for another round. I practice my lessons for Tuesday where I show my teacher everything he taught me the week before. My left hand is sore from stretching from the first to the fourth position, but I feel focused (for awhile) once again. Happily in pain.
Teri Raitt, Teri Crow, just Teri (like Jewel), Teri Clapton, Teri Flatt.
Well, regardless, I've hopped at least one more letter down the musical alphabet for the future grandkids for now!